Blackberry Beginnings
by DandelionSunset
Summary: The first scene between Katniss and Peeta in Sever, in which she comes to sell blackberries to Mr. Mellark and is offered much more than she could have ever expected. Chapters 2 and 3 of Sever, from Peeta's point-of-view (as requested). ONESHOT.


**Blackberry Beginnings**

_(Peeta's perspective in chapters 2 and 3 of Sever)_

It's been a boring summer, and I find myself baking in the kitchen just to pass the time until my shift starts. My oldest brother went off to college last week, so it helps to have some things already prepared when I go in anyway. Dad's been sticking around during our busiest evening hours lately, even though he works all day and only takes an hour break in between. I know it's wearing him out, but luckily he's supposed to be hiring someone new to help soon. It honestly has me a little worried, though. I've never worked with anyone that wasn't family, and it's difficult to know what to expect.

I've just placed a tray of buns in the oven when I hear a loud knock from the living room. I'm taken aback because we live in the middle of nowhere and I didn't hear any cars pull up in the driveway. Still, when I make my way to the door, I fully expect one of Proja's obnoxious friends to barge in as soon as I open it and invite themselves to the baked goods lining the countertops and kitchen table. Instead, I'm pleasantly surprised when I see who it actually is.

_Katniss Everdeen._

The girl I've had a crush on since before I can even remember.

I've noticed many other girls over the years, but none make my heart beat as fast or cause me to become speechless by a mere glance like she can. It's like hearing your favorite song for the first time; it sends chills throughout your body. You look down and you have goose bumps because the song was so amazing and you can't concentrate on anything else. You're entranced, and even if it's just some ordinary song to everyone else, it's special to you, it resonates inside you, it's impossible to get it out of your head, and you can't understand why everyone else doesn't appreciate it as much. You just want to listen to it again and again and memorize each chord and syllable by heart. That's how I feel when I look at her. When she smiles it brightens the room, and when she laughs it's like music to my ears.

We could be in a crowded gymnasium with every other person in school, and still my eyes will always drift in her direction as if they're magnetized. She's not beautiful in a conventional way, but in a way that is uniquely _her_. I always catch myself staring, observing these barely noticeable things about her, such as the small dimple on the right side of her face between her nose and mouth that's only visible when she purses her lips in concentration, or the light dusting of freckles that only reside on her left earlobe, and I wonder if anyone else has ever noticed them besides me.

I'm almost positive she doesn't notice or even think twice about me, however, so I just settle with admiring her from afar. I've wanted so much to talk to her and tell her how I feel, but I know she'd only think I was making fun of her and it'd be an awkward experience for both of us. Since her father died when she was eleven, I've watched her go from an outgoing, confident girl with a lot of friends to the exact opposite. She usually sits silently in the back of the classroom, and appears to be a million miles away inside her head. She always looks worried and completely closed off, and from the bruises, broken bones, and hunger I've seen her endure over the years, it isn't difficult at all to fathom why.

The truth is, I haven't seen her smile or laugh in years. I've barely even heard her talk. People at school haven't been very kind to her, either, and it kills me every time I witness her silently taking their ignorance and abuse. It's obvious she goes through enough without them making it worse. Then again, since losing my leg, I know firsthand how cruel peers can be when they're confronted with things they don't fully understand, or things that make them uncomfortable. It's much easier to reject something as a group than acknowledge it and try to help.

As for me, I choose to remember the sweet and lively girl she once was, and who she still is beneath all the protective barriers. I remember a girl who would sing and make songbirds jealous, a girl who was lead in a third grade play and caused the whole auditorium to stand and cheer at her talent; someone so caring and encouraging, who gave me confidence when I had stage fright, and would sit next to me in first grade Art class, excitedly asking me to draw things for her, and watching with admiration when I did. She even kissed me once when we were seven. It was my first one, and it was because I gave her a butterfly cupcake. As overjoyed as I was, I asked her right then to marry me in return for a lifetime supply of daily cupcakes, and she'd said yes.

I highly doubt she remembers any of that now, but I'll never forget it.

I haven't seen her all summer, and now here she stands before me, as breathtaking and intimidating as ever with her hardened, yet hopeful light gray eyes gazing warily back at me. Sweat glistens and trickles down her face and neck, causing tendrils of dark hair to stick to her sun kissed skin. The rest of her hair is plaited into a thick, messy braid that cascades down to her waistline. It's the same way she's worn it for years.

As beautiful as she is, however, I can't help taking notice of how severely exhausted and malnourished she appears to be. The sleeves on her oversized and faded blue T-shirt are rolled up to the shoulders, revealing muscled yet emaciated arms that lead down to her nervously wringing hands. My eyes drift down further to the dirty cut-off jean shorts she's wearing, and finally on the bucket beside her. It appears to be full of blackberries, which I'm guessing she's come to sell to my father.

My heart is beating hard against my chest and my mouth has gone completely dry at the sight of her. Somehow I finally find my voice enough to manage a weak, "Yeah?"

"Is your dad home?" she asks quickly, averting her eyes as she begins to chew on her lip and tug nervously on the end of her braid.

"No. He's still in town, but he'll be back in a little while," I answer with a shrug. I notice the disappointment wash over her face as the line between her eyebrows becomes more prominent and her frown sinks a bit lower. I find myself offering with no real intention, "I can get my mom if you _want_—"

"No!" she demands before I can even finish, alarm in her eyes as she brings them to mine again. I immediately feel my gut tighten and I have to remind myself to breathe. She shakes her head, focusing on the ground once again as she explains in a rush, "I mean… can I wait for your dad? I don't think your mom likes me very much."

"My mom doesn't like _anyone_ very much. Not even _me_," I attempt to joke, but I'm aware it really isn't funny. My mother has never really been very pleasant to people who don't prove to benefit her social status in some way. I notice that Katniss' demeanor has become more rigid at the mention of her, so I smile slightly and try to make her feel more at ease, "Don't feel bad about it. Anyway, she's upstairs right now. You can come in and wait for Dad if you want. I'm just doing a little baking."

I step aside and hold the door open for her to walk through.

"Thank you," she replies quietly as she lifts the bucket of blackberries and enters the house. Once inside, she stops for a moment, closing her eyes and visibly relaxing as the cool air envelops her body. I'm guessing she walked all the way here from her place, and that's _at least_ four miles in ninety degree weather. I'm surprised she didn't pass out before she reached our front porch. It haunts my mind to wonder what circumstances in her life would drive her to such desperate lengths.

Katniss abruptly opens her eyes again and, not wanting to make her uncomfortable by catching me staring, I decide to walk around her and into the kitchen. I feel a bit self-conscious at my limp being so obvious today; every so often, arthritis flares up and it makes it hard to walk normally. She follows closely behind me, and if she notices the hitch in my step, she doesn't stare or say anything about it—not that I expect she would.

I turn to her once again when we're inside the kitchen, and see that she has her eyes closed and looks to be a bit off balance as she wavers slightly in place. She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes again, narrowing them as she looks around the room. I know she's hungry, I can tell by the way she's trying to avoid looking at all the baked food on the table and countertops. However, my first focus is on getting her something to drink. Just from the sweat pouring off of her and soaking her shirt, I know she's majorly dehydrated from the long walk in the heat, and the last thing I want to happen is for her to pass out or collapse.

I work up my courage to speak again and ask quickly, "You thirsty?"

She looks at me and gives a slow shrug of her shoulders, eyeing me suspiciously as if there's a hidden meaning behind my simple question.

I grab a glass from the cabinet, open the fridge, and pour her some iced tea. I then fill the space between us as I walk over and stand right in front of her, raising my eyebrows and holding the glass out for her to take. She looks at it almost longingly and then at me, searching my face, and then back down at the glass again. The close proximity to her causes my hands to tremble a little. I offer quickly, "If you don't like sweet tea, we have ice water**,** too."

She shakes her head and finally takes the glass out of my hand without any hesitation. I see one side of her lips curve up, and it makes my heart beat a little faster. It's so small that it's barely noticeable, but it's the closest to a smile I've seen out of her in a while.

"This is fine. Thanks," she mumbles.

"You're welcome," I reply, then take the cue to turn my back so she doesn't feel self-conscious about drinking in front of me. I know that along with the walls she's built up to keep herself from getting hurt, she also has a lot of false pride to cover up her insecurities, so I walk over to the oven and pretend to look in on what I'm baking.

When I turn back to her a moment later, I see that she's chugging the contents of the glass in one continuous gulp. When she's done, she sighs contentedly and seems thoroughly satisfied until she opens her eyes and looks straight at me. Her face immediately reddens as she casts her gaze to the side. I'm amused and delighted at how completely adorable she is when she's flustered, and I can't help the humored smile that curves my lips.

"You _are_ thirsty, huh?" I comment as I open the fridge again, retrieve the pitcher of iced tea, and I set it down on the table before her. "Here, have as much as you want. I can always make more."

She hesitates, frowning as she stares at it questioningly and then directs her gaze back to me as if trying to figure something out. I can tell she wants more, but for whatever reason, she stands still and doesn't say anything.

"Seriously," I reassure her, and nod encouragingly toward the pitcher of tea. "Feel free, Katniss."

Her eyes immediately widen before she narrows them again and asks in a small, confused voice, "You know my name?"

This question takes me by complete surprise. We've shared classes since Kindergarten, knew each other even before that when her parents would come into the bakery on Sundays, so of course I would know her name. We haven't talked much or really at all in the last few years, but surely she doesn't think she's become so invisible that she's been completely erased from my memory? If only she knew just how much I've thought about her, and how often she crosses my mind, she'd realize the exact opposite is true.

"Yeah," I answer slowly, unsure of how to answer without making her uncomfortable. "It's… very different. Not very easy to forget."

"Yeah? Well, neither is _Peeta_," she snaps defensively, obviously taking my words as an insult.

I chuckle and shake my head, "I meant it as a _good_ thing."

"Oh," she replies, and seems a bit mortified.

She chews on her bottom lip, looking contemplative for a moment, and I guess her thirst finally overthrows her pride as she finally pours herself a glass of tea and begins to sip on it very slowly. She avoids looking in my direction again, self-consciously crossing an arm over her stomach as she continues to drink.

It's then that I notice the faint bruise in the shape of a handprint on her upper arm. It makes my blood boil and my mind race; I can't understand how anyone could ever hurt her. I find myself entertaining fantasies of rescuing her and reassuring her that no one will ever harm her again, that I'll help her, protect her, provide for her, love her….

And I would, in an instant and without any reluctance, if I knew she'd ever allow it.

"You can sit down, you know. You don't have to stand the entire time you wait," I offer kindly, taking note of how she keeps shifting her body weight from side to side.

"Maybe I _want_ to stand," she replies.

"Do as you want," I answer, holding up my hands in mock defeat. "But the chair would probably be a lot more comfortable. Just saying."

Katniss stands still for a few minutes, her face stony and skeptical, but soon her stubbornness gives way as she finally pulls out a chair and decides to sit down. She seems so out of place and uncomfortable in her own skin, however, that it breaks my heart when I look at her. It's almost as if the mere gesture of sitting in a chair is a rare kindness she feels conflicted about accepting. She sits awkwardly, picking at the hanging threads on her cut-off shorts and purposefully staring at the floor in order to avoid looking at the food that's lying on the table only a few inches away from her.

"Feel free to eat anything you see in front of you," I offer.

She glances at me abruptly, looking unsure if she'd heard me correctly. "What?"

"They're all going to the bakery this evening. Chances are half of it will end up in the trash at the end of the night, anyway," I explain. "I'd rather someone eat it."

She licks her lips almost as a subconscious reaction, like she's imagining what the food would taste like, but she's still hesitant to actually reach out and take anything. She looks from the tray of food before her and then to me, searching my face suspiciously, as if trying to figure out if I'm being serious or if I can be trusted. Relief and a bit of triumph rushes through my body, though, when her shoulders relax, and she heaves a surrendering sigh as she finally reaches for a cheese bun.

She pulls it apart and brings a piece to her mouth, closing her eyes as a mask of bliss comes over her face. She chews slowly at first, as if savoring every last morsel—like she's never tasted anything so delicious before—then washes it down with a sip of tea. She takes another bite and looks down at what's left of the cheese bun in her hand, frowning as tears line the rims of her eyes, then sighs and closes them again as she takes another bite. She looks as if she's ashamed of herself for eating it, and perhaps a little guilty. I then remember that she has a little sister, and that maybe it could be linked to her current inner turmoil.

"Do you like it?" I ask curiously. She nods, but doesn't say anything, looking lost in her thoughts. I hesitate for a moment, hoping not to offend her in any way, but I push the fear aside and finally offer, "You can take a couple home to your sister, too. If you think she would like them."

"You know I have a sister?" she asks, raising her eyes to meet mine in surprise. I notice how her face has softened considerably at the mention of her little sister.

"Prim, right?" I ask as if I'm making sure, but I remember her little sister quite vividly from their visits to the bakery when they were younger. They look quite a bit alike, aside from their hair colors, and I've passed their driveway as they were standing for the school bus every morning for years. She nods slowly, and seems to be contemplating something, probably how I'd know about her sister. After all, she was shocked that I even knew her _own_ name. I explain, ""I've seen her with you."

She looks like she wants to ask something more, but shakes her head slightly as if reprimanding herself, and takes another bite of her cheese bun.

Right then, the buzzer on the oven goes off, and I make my way over to it. As I look inside, a sudden idea occurs to me. I know I offered Katniss some buns to take for her sister, but I know her pride would never allow her to take more than a couple—if that. I shake my head and give a heavy sigh, which I hope is believable, and turn to her with a shrug, "I burnt them a little."

While the buns in question might be a little browner than usual, they are nowhere near burnt. Before she can see that I'm lying about it, though, I grab a brown paper bag and dump the entire dozen of cheese buns into it. I turn to her to find that she's observing me closely, the conflicted look back on her face. I hold the bag up, and ask as casually as I can, "You want these? I'm going to throw them away if you don't."

She nods quickly in reply, looking almost relieved that I'd asked her, and when I hand her the bag, I feel triumphant for the second time this evening.

I just wish I could offer her more than a bag of cheese buns.

About a half an hour later, and far too soon for my liking, Dad comes home and walks into the kitchen. I can't help feeling a little disappointed that this moment that I've had with her is over. Hard telling if the chance will ever arise again.

"Why, hello Miss Katniss. What can I do for you this fine evening?" he asks cheerfully.

"I brought fresh blackberries, and I'm hoping you'll want to buy some," she blurts quickly, her face turning red at asking.

His eyes settle on the bucket of blackberries and then on her. He seems to be thinking something over, and she looks nervous and worried at having to wait for an answer. Whatever reason she has for walking here to sell the blackberries, I know it's an important one and there's no way I'm letting her leave here without them being sold—even if I have to buy them myself. Dad continues to ask curiously, "You picked all these today?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's a scorcher out there! You walked here, too?"

She nods and repeats politely, "Yes, sir."

He tilts his head slightly and knits his eyebrows together in contemplation. Katniss nervously wrings her hands and chews on her bottom lip as she avoids looking at either of us.

"How about," he finally replies, looking as if he's adding sums in his head, "fifty dollars for the entire bucket?"

"Fifty!" Her mouth opens in shock, but she closes it quickly and shakes her head as if she's embarrassed for being so excited. She releases a breath and says in a quieter, even tone, "I mean, yes. Sure. That would be wonderful."

Still, her eyes dart around as if she can't fully believe it. Blackberries are expensive in stores, though, and I actually think she should be paid a bit more than what Dad has offered. But if she's happy then so am I.

"It's a deal then!" Dad smiles jovially and hands her a fifty dollar bill. Her eyes widen in stunned disbelief as she looks down at the money in her hands. "Just one more thing…."

Katniss glances warily back up at him, her eyes narrowing and her face hardening as she seems to brace herself for bad news. I find myself wondering what he's up to as well, and he _is_ up to _something_. I know it can't be anything bad, but my gut still twists into knots—especially since I notice he's taking care not to look in my direction.

"My eldest son is going off to college. I'm going to be one person down at the bakery in the evenings," he starts, and automatically, I know what he's going to ask her. I can't believe it, though. He wouldn't, would he? Katniss looks to be just as confused and curious as I am. My mouth goes dry and my heart is beating like a drum against my chest. I listen intently as he continues, "I need someone dependable. Someone hard working. You seem to fit the bill. Would you be interested in a part time job, Miss Katniss? I'll compensate well."

Her mouth opens in shock, and she appears to be speechless. I watch in stunned silence as a myriad of emotions wash over her face—happiness, worry, excitement, hope, and what looks to be fear. My own mind is running in a million different directions. If she's getting a job at the bakery in the evenings… well, that's _my_ shift. We'll be spending hours together every day besides the weekend. It's more than I could ever hope for or dream of, but the realization of it scares me. Dad knows how I feel about Katniss, and he's giving me an opportunity to finally spend time with her, perhaps become friends with her… and maybe, _maybe_, something else eventually— maybe _something_ _more._

"I'd love to, but my sister…." she trails off as if she's lost in her thoughts.

"She's welcome to tag along with you," Dad says. She seems relieved for a moment, and I hold my breath for her answer. but then her eyes narrow as another worry evidently pops into her mind.

"I don't have transportation into town."

"We'll make sure you always have a ride. Right, Peeta?" Dad asks, winking over at me. I gulp and nod quickly, my whole body trembling with anticipation and anxiety, and my heart feels as if it might explode at any moment from beating so fast. Not only will I be working with her for hours, I'll be giving her rides too.

"Sure then," she answers as if she still can't quite believe it, "I'd be honored to work for you."

"Great!" Dad responds enthusiastically. "Will you be available to start work on Monday, after school?"

"Sure," she shrugs and fixes her eyes on the floor. She seems to be in deep thought, probably about how this will change things. I know that's what _I'm_ thinking about. I know I've just been given a chance and a challenge, and I can't help but wonder how this will turn out. All I know is that things won't ever be the same for me again. "Do I need to bring anything with me?"

"Just yourself. We'll take care of everything else," he reassures her. She nods, but says nothing else. Dad then turns to me suddenly and raises a knowing eyebrow as he catches me staring at her. I look down at the counter and try to prevent my face from turning the shade of a tomato. "Would you care to give this young lady a lift back when you head into town?"

Katniss looks taken aback at Dad's suggestion as she glances over at me apprehensively. I lick my lips nervously and manage to find my voice to answer with a short, "Sure. Of course."

"You _really_ don't have to—"she starts to object, but there's no way I'm going to let her walk all the way home, especially since the sun will be setting soon.

"It's on the way. It's no problem," I shrug dismissively. I can't help looking at her a bit differently than before. All these years, I've admired her from afar, but was too afraid to say anything. Now, I'm going to be talking to her all the time, spending _hours _at her side, and for once, I see _possibility_; I just need to climb a few fences and break down some walls.

She starts to fidget nervously with her shirt again as she lowers her eyes. I know she's had a hell of a life, people have been cruel to her at every turn, and it's obviously taken a toll on how she views herself. But right here, right now, I vow to somehow change that. I want to help her see herself the way I see her—beautiful, talented, and strong-willed. I want to build her confidence, and show her that kindness isn't such a rare thing. I know I have my work cut out for me, but I find that I'm more than up for the challenge.

I lower my gaze as Dad walks over, leans in near my ear, and whispers, "I'm putting a lot of trust in you, son. She's a pretty girl, and I know how much you like her. I remember what it's like to be seventeen, but I _still_ expect you to be professional and do your job. No fooling around at work, and I mean that in _every_ way possible."

My eyes are focused on the countertop and my face is burning. I have no idea if Katniss can hear him from where she's standing, and I'm too anxious to look at her out of fear that she might have. She barely knows me, and I don't want her to feel uncomfortable from the very beginning by thinking I expect more from her than friendship. More would be great eventually, if things turn out that way, but simply earning her trust and being her friend is my first and foremost goal.

I shake my head disapprovingly, and feeling beyond mortified, I mutter strongly though clenched teeth, "_Dad_…"

From the corner of my eye, I see him take a backward glance at Katniss, and then he ruffles my hair to apparently further my embarrassment before he finally leaves the room.

When I look over at her again, I see that her face is entirely red and she's staring purposefully at the floor. It's hard to tell if she'd overheard, but I wouldn't doubt that she figured out what was said even if she didn't.

I sigh and nervously run my fingers through my hair to straighten it out.

"Sorry about that," I mumble, not knowing what else to say. In an attempt to avoid having to explain anything, I begin rushing around, putting plastic wrap over all of the trays of baked goods.

"About what?" she asks so quietly it's practically a whisper.

"You didn't—?" I stop abruptly and glance up at her, and she returns my questioning look with raised eyebrows. Butterflies swarm in my stomach as I gaze into her bright gray eyes, and it's like my breath has been stolen away, so instead my eyes drift down to her lips, but it only makes the feeling more intense because I wonder what it'd be like to kiss them. I quickly look away again and try to focus as I finish wrapping a tray with plastic wrap. I answer vaguely with, "Nothing."

"Okay…." she replies uncertainly, and I can tell from the genuine confusion in her tone that she hadn't heard what Dad had said after all, and even if she _had_ that she's not going to dwell on it. She takes a few tentative steps closer and watches me for a couple minutes before taking a deep breath and asking quickly, "Do you need any help?"

I look at her, taken a bit by surprise by her offer, especially with how apprehensive she was when she first arrived. I bite my lip and feel a little warm inside thinking that maybe Dad's job offer has put a small crack in her wall. However, her offer of help is a minute too late as I've already covered all the trays.

"Not really. I mean… they're all done now. Thanks, though."

She nods and crosses her arms over her chest as if she's embarrassed for even asking, and I feel slight panic rise up inside my chest as I see the wall she's built start to repair itself and become even thicker.

"Actually," I begin, feeling a little awkward in asking her for help, but knowing I should probably get used to it. "Would you mind helping me load these into the car?"

"Sure!" she replies automatically, and I can't help but smile at her obvious enthusiasm. She shakes her head and clears her throat before takes on a more casual tone. "I mean, no. I don't mind. It'll give me some practice. For the job."

I lift a pan of cheese buns and place it into her open arms, smiling at how obviously excited she is about the job. She's trying to appear nonchalant about the whole thing, but her demeanor and tone of voice make her true sentiment apparent. I wonder if she realizes how much time we'll be spending together? Or if she's figured out that I'll be the one training her?

"You won't be doing much loading or lifting. Probably just baking, decorating, and cashiering mostly," I say.

I lift two pans up into my own arms, and when I look back at her, she seems worried again.

"I don't really know how to bake or decorate," she admits.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll teach you! It's not too hard; just takes a little practice," I reply enthusiastically. Baking takes skill and patience, but I have no doubt that she'll catch on quickly, and I look forward to showing her everything I know. I hope she finds a passion for it, too, because I want her to stick around.

She looks like she wants to ask something more, but she just nods and looks down at the tray. A strand of hair falls forward over her eye, and I want so badly to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, but I know it wouldn't be appropriate at this point.

"The car's out front," I remark, and she silently follows as I lead her outside. When we reach the car, I open the trunk so we can place the trays of baked goods down, then I go around to the passenger side and open the door.

"I just have to get two more trays. You can go ahead and sit in the car, if you'd like…?" I offer, and when she sits down in the seat without any hesitation, I can't help the heartwarming feeling that rushes through me. Katniss Everdeen is in the front seat of my car… and this is soon to be an everyday occurrence. It doesn't seem quite real. I smile at her before saying, "I'll be right back."

Once I'm back inside the house, the first thing I notice is the brown bag full of cheese buns that she'd forgotten. In a moment of spontaneity, I take half of the cinnamon rolls from one of the trays on the table and place them in the bag for her and her sister. Like I said before, chances are that half of this stuff won't even be sold by the end of the night, and I'd rather it go to someone who will appreciate it.

When I sit down in the front seat of the car, I hand the bag to her with a wink, "I'm guessing you still want these, right?"

A look of pure gratitude comes to her face as she nods and places the bag in her lap, "Yes. Thank you."

She stares down at it as if it's some sort of treasure, and seems astounded by everything that's happened this evening.

I know exactly how she feels.

"When you start at the bakery, you'll probably get tired of them after a while," I say to make conversation, a nervous smile spreading across my face from being so close to her. "Dad didn't tell you, but you'll be welcome to take home whatever we don't sell at the end of the day."

"Really?" she asks, looking a bit awestruck, and for a moment I think she's actually going to smile. Instead, she takes a deep breath as if to calm herself down, and closes her eyes as she leans closer against the car door. "That's cool," she mumbles shakily.

I know she obviously doesn't eat well at home, or at school. In fact, she doesn't eat lunches at school at all. In middle school, I used to sneak bagged lunches into her desk before first hour, and she'd look so confused but utterly grateful when she'd find them. I'd watch from afar as she ate the lunch I'd prepared for her, savoring each bite as she did earlier this evening with the cheese bun.

It wasn't long before Mom caught on to what I was doing, though. She locked the cupboards to prevent me from 'stealing food' and whopped me pretty badly for it. I had to tell Dad that I got the bruises from wrestling with my brothers. Needless to say, it put an end to my secret lunches and it broke my heart to observe Katniss excitedly opening her desk in the mornings to find nothing there. She'd sometimes close her eyes, as if praying or hoping something would be there, and she'd almost cry when there wasn't. Feeling tears stinging my own eyes, I'd have to look at a wall or something so I wouldn't give myself away. Eventually she stopped expecting anything, and I think the apathy that came afterwards was more crushing than anything. I felt guilty for giving her hope and stealing it away again.

She still didn't eat school lunches when we got to high school, opting to sit in the library and read instead. I used to sit a few tables away and pretend to read or do some homework, but really I was just curious and wanted to learn a bit more about her. A lot can be said about the books that people read, and I'd often find myself checking out the ones that she'd finished, just to have a brief glimpse inside her mind.

I hope this year will be different, though. Hopefully we'll finally become friends and I can bring her lunches again.

"Sorry about the car. It's as old as I am. It's mine though, and it runs okay. So I guess it's better than nothing, right?"

"I think it's nice," she reassures me.

"Thanks," I reply, and I can't prevent the grin that comes to my face at her kind words. It gives me hope. I keep my eyes on the road and state as casually as I can, "That's good to know. You'll probably be riding in it a lot…."

"Why?" she asks with genuine confusion.

"I'll be giving you rides back and forth for work," I explain quickly, hoping this revelation doesn't make her uncomfortable. I guess the thought hadn't crossed her mind how much time we'll be spending around each other, and how often we'll be in my car.

"Oh," she answers, and doesn't say anything else as she peers out the window, seeming lost in her thoughts. I wish I could ask her what she's thinking about.

"You'll be working with me, by the way. I'll be training you. My brothers don't really hang around the bakery much, if you're worried about that. I know they can be jerks. Anyway, Appam is off at college, and Proja has his sports training and games. When he _does_ work, it's only on weekends with Dad," I tell her, realizing that my brothers might cause her some concern. They've never been very nice to her, just like the other kids in school. They also know about my crush on her, and used to go out of their way to pick on her just to rile me up.

I remember how, when we were younger and had to ride the bus because Dad was out of town for a week, they'd sat next to her and told her in saccharine tones how pretty she was and even asked if she'd be Proja's girlfriend. She knew they were being sarcastic and refused to reply; she'd simply stare out the window with tears in her eyes as they then accused her of thinking she was too good for him. After a while, they'd laughed at their own cruel jokes, and even told her that I'd said a bunch of horrible things about her that I never said. I desperately assured her that I hadn't, but she didn't respond at all, and to this day I wonder if she remembers any of that or if she believed what they'd said. I still resent my brothers over it, and it caused a rift between us that I can't see ever being repaired. We might be blood, but we're as different as day and night. For people I've lived with my entire life, I can't remember the last time we even spoke to each other in a less than formal way.

I push these thoughts out of my mind as I see her driveway coming up and turn my blinker on to turn in.

"Uh… you can let me out here!" Katniss says all of a sudden, her voice full of panic and fear.

"What?" I ask, but I listen to her and stop the car. "It's not that much further, I can—"

"No. Please… just let me out here?" she replies pleadingly. I notice her hands are trembling as she grips the bag of rolls, and her eyes are darting around as if she's a trapped animal. I have no idea why she won't let me go the end of the driveway, but I know there's something there that she's scared to death of me seeing.

"Okay," I answer wistfully, saddened at the thought that the place she calls home, the one place where she's supposed to be the most comfortable, surfaces this much anxiety in her. She opens the car door and quickly steps out, as if afraid that I might change my mind about driving her all the way. I'm curious, but I won't betray her trust… especially since I haven't earned it yet.

She hesitates for a moment before leaning over and telling me through the rolled down window with a wary, slight smile, "Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime," I reply.

She nods and starts to walk away.

I call out her name, and she turns around and arches an eyebrow in question.

"You know I wouldn't judge you, right?" I ask her meaningfully.

She releases a long breath, and though she doesn't look like she believes me, shrugs her shoulders and looks away as she flippantly states, "See you Monday."

Before I can reply, she starts walking down the road at a quicker pace. And as I back my car out of the driveway, I know one thing for certain:

Monday will be the day _everything _changes. I'm going to make sure of it.

* * *

Hope you liked the scene from Peeta's point-of-view, it was fun to write. This is a oneshot, so no need to follow. I'd love to hear what you thought, though. :) If you'd like to read any other scenes from his perspective, please let me know. Also, I'm on tumblr: dandelionsunsetff


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